


A True War Story

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Drama, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Everything, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protests, Romance, Violence, War, in which Bucky is a soldier and Steve is at home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1962, and Sergeant James Barnes is in the Special Forces, deployed in Vietnam, and Steve Rogers is stuck at home in New York, fighting the war effort from the other side, trying to bring Bucky home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steven R. Barnes from Paramus, New Jersey

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this story was taken from the novel, "The Things They Carried", by Tim O'Brien.

Steve Rogers tried not to fidget as he stood at the table of recruitment agents. He held his chin up a little higher than usual, squared his shoulders, made his expression a bit more firm than it usually might be. He watched as casually as he could as the officer in front of him read over his file. It was completely fake, of course, but they would never take him if they knew the truth. At least, if he lied, and managed to slip through the cracks, he might have a chance at getting shipped out this time. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Steven R. Barnes,” the officer read aloud, and Steve nodded his head.

“That’s me,” Steve answered, trying to inject as much confidence into his voice as he could. The officer did not seem overly suspicious yet.

“And you’re from Paramus, New Jersey?” the officer asked. Steve nodded again, keeping his hands clasped behind his back. “What brings you up here to register?”

“I have family up here,” Steve answered. “Cousins. All girls, but they encouraged me to come down here. I know it’s still early, but I want to serve my country, sir.”

The corner of the officer’s lips twitched, almost in a smile. Steve could have danced. He signed one of the lines at the bottom of Steve’s enlistment form and handed it over.

“You’re a little on the small side, and you sound like you might have a couple issues,” the officer told him, rapping on his own chest, and Steve nodded, “but you’ve got heart, and we really can’t afford to be picky. This thing is shaping up to be a real disaster.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve replied, almost tripping over himself. His enlistment form crinkled a little in the tight grip he had on it. The officer leaned over the table and pointed to the side of the gymnasium they were on. Another officer waved back at them from the door he was standing beside across the gym.

“You’re just gonna go down to him, and they’ll do a quick medical exam for you, and then you can get signed off, and you’ll get your assignment as soon as we can get it to you,” the officer informed him, and Steve felt all the blood drain out of his face. He walked away from the table, the paper in his hands almost getting torn from his white-knuckled hold. He tried to slip past the medical officer, but the man caught him by the arm.

“Whoah, son, you gotta go in this way,” the officer informed him, trying good-naturedly to help him out. Steve nodded, his heart starting to pound in his chest. He walked hesitantly through the door the officer held open for him, and a nurse waved at him.

“Just take a seat right there, sir, and we’ll bring you right in,” the nurse told him, smiling happily. Steve sat down in the hard chair she pointed to. He held a firm palm down against his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing with nerves. Bucky was going to be _beyond_  angry if he got caught again. He just would have to keep this one a secret. Again.

“I’m feeling pretty healthy,” Steve told the nurse as she bustled past him. She bent over him, unbuttoned his shirt cuff, and rolled up his sleeve to his bicep. She wiped at the inside of his elbow before taking hold of his wrist and pulling his arm out straight.

“I know, most men who want to be soldiers do,” the nurse told him, seeking out a vein in his arm. She pricked it with her needle. Steve barely stopped himself from flinching. “But it’s a formality, mostly. We just have to do it.” She sealed up the vial of his blood and offered him another blinding smile. “Hopefully, you have nothing to worry about.”

Steve just nodded at her instead of answering, his throat dry. She pat him on the shoulder, stuck a little band-aid on his arm, and left him to wait for the doctor to come and seal his fate. Steve tapped his fingers against his knee anxiously, watching the way his thin fingers moved on the dark wool. He glanced away from his hand, eyeing a sign that read, _It is illegal to falsify your enlistment form._ Steve tugged his sleeve back down and started trying to button the cuff. He stood, dropping his form to the floor. The doctor entered then, motioning Steve to a curtained-off bed. He let Steve hop up to sit.

“We’ll just do a quick physical to pass you on to the next step,” the doctor informed him, taking the enlistment form Steve had hurriedly scooped up from the floor. “I’m Dr. Anderson. It’s good to meet you, Mr. Barnes.”

“That’s me,” Steve answered automatically, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. Dr. Anderson set the enlistment form aside and handed Steve a robe. Steve swallowed. “Good to meet you, too.”

“Good. Do you mind stripping down for me, Steve?” Dr. Anderson asked, barely paying him attention as he consulted a checklist on his clipboard. Noticing Steve’s hesitation, Dr. Anderson glanced up at him. “I can turn my back, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Steve managed to say, and Dr. Anderson nodded understandingly before turning away. Steve scrambled out of his clothes as quickly as he could before yanking the robe on. He managed to hop back up onto the bed before Dr. Anderson turned around.

“I’m going to take a quick listen to your lungs, because your enlistment form has a comment about possible asthma,” Dr. Anderson informed him, and Steve felt like ice water had been injected into his veins. He could only nod as Dr. Anderson pulled his robe down to press a hand against his back. Dr. Anderson paused. “Do you have an injury, Steven? There wasn’t anything written on your form.”

“Yeah, I hurt my ribs a couple weeks ago, it’s healing nicely,” Steve lied. Dr. Anderson tugged at one of the edges of the elastic bandage Steve had wrapped around his torso.

“I’m just going to unwrap it quickly to get a good read on your lungs, and then I’ll wrap you right back up,” Dr. Anderson promised, starting to unravel the bandages. Steve’s hands curled into fists, his short nails digging into his palms, leaving red crescents in his skin. Dr. Anderson stopped just when Steve figured he would stop, when it became noticeable.

“We’ve heard about you trying to work your way in, and, to my understanding, you’ve been stopped multiple times before,” Dr. Anderson stated, his voice gone colder. He dropped the bandages, and Steve tugged the robe back up. “It’s illegal to falsify your enlistment form.”

“You don’t understand-”

“I’m going to have to contact security,” Dr. Anderson interrupted, leaving the curtained area. Steve heard the door shut, and he scrambled to get on as much of his clothes as he could before running out of the room, holding up his pants with one hand, holding one of his shoes in the other, his other shoe barely on his foot. He got caught on the arm by one of the security guards halfway out of the gymnasium, even though he gave them a little bit of a chase.

“You’re going to have to come with us, Miss,” the security guard insisted, dragging Steve by the wrist out the door and down the street a couple of buildings to the police station. Steve struggled the whole way, tearing at the security guard’s grip.

“Don’t call me that,” Steve snarled, and the security guard just yanked him along.

“Maybe a night in the tank’ll do you some good,” the security guard commented, hauling him into the station. He left Steve with the officer at the front desk while he went in to explain what had happened to one of his cop buddies, Steve guessed. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in his cell, all his personal effects in a bag at the front desk. The only other person in the cell with him was a woman with dark brown hair tucked up into a cap. Steve started properly redressing himself, starting with rewrapping his elastic bandage.

“What happened to you?” she asked, watching Steve tighten the bandage around his chest.

“Born a lady,” Steve snapped, bitter venom in his tone. He turned away from her, still seething. She stood up and approached him, tugging the bandages out of his hands. “Hey!”

“That’s not what you want to be doing,” the girl said. Steve moved to take the bandages back, but she just moved out of the way of his hands and starting unwinding him. “Trust me. It’s just going to damage your chest, your lungs.”

Steve gave up and watched, defeated, as she unraveled him. “How do you know that?”

“I keep trying to enlist, but they don’t take women,” the girl answered, throwing him a look. “I’m guessing you did something similar.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a woman,” Steve answered. “Nobody believes me, but I’m not.”

“I believe you, pal,” the girl said, finally tugging the last of the bandages free. She handed them to Steve in a pile. “Some people are born different. Not crazy to think that you were, too.”

Steve eyed her for a moment before sitting down next to the spot on the bench she had just vacated. The girl recognized the invitation for what it was and took her seat again. Steve stuck out a hand to her.

“My name’s Steve Rogers,” Steve told her, and she took his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Natalia Shostakova,” she informed him, and Steve could feel his expression change before he got it under control. “I’m not associated with the Shostakova… _group._ ”

“Not sure I’d call them a group,” Steve commented, releasing her hand.

“Whatever you’d call them, I’m not associated with them any longer, and you can take my word for that,” Natalia assured him. Steve decided to take her at face value; she believed him. He should return the favor.

“All that’s important to me is who you are now,” Steve told her, and she smiled slightly before motioning to the clothes Steve had abandoned.

“Might want to finish getting dressed before they come back and you get to make your call,” Natalia suggested. Steve started pulling his clothes back on, struggling a bit with the buttons on his shirt cuffs before Natalia pushed his shaking hands away and did them for him. “I’ve got a couple of tricks, better than using elastic bandages. I can show you.”

“I don’t know if I can keep trying to enlist,” Steve told her, leaning back against the cold wall of the holding cell. “They’re never going to let me through. They’ll _always_ know. Bucky’s going to be pissed that I even tried in the first place.”

“Then, what are you going to do?” Natalia asked, not prodding at all. Steve was already starting to respect her.

“I’m going to start joining the protests, I think,” Steve told her, tugging his belt through the loops. All of his clothes had come from either Bucky or the trunk his mother had kept his father’s clothes in, and all of it was too big for him, but it felt better than any dress ever had. He started buckling the belt. “I already do a few for civil rights, you know. My friend Sam’s black.” Steve finished dressing and sat back down to pull his shoes on. “What’s a few more, if it’ll help end the war faster? That’s all I really want to do.”

“Sounds smart to me, Steve Rogers,” Natalia agreed. “Did you try joining the Women’s Army Corps?”

“They’re not taking people like me right now, they said,” Steve told her. “I already tried. I’ve tried everything. They don’t want me.”

“I just want to get out there,” Natalia confessed. Steve glanced at her, his shoelaces still in his fingers. “Seems like that's the only way to get out of _here._ ”

“I can understand that,” Steve answered, returning his attention to his shoelaces. One of the officers came up to their cell, rattling the bars a bit before pointing at Steve. Steve stood.

“You got someone you can call to come get you in the morning?” the officer asked gruffly, and Steve nodded. The officer opened the door and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Come with me. Make it quick.”

Steve followed the officer to the pay phone right down the hall. He took the quarter the officer gave him and rang the number for his apartment through the operator. Sam picked up, sounding like he had maybe just fallen asleep.

“Hello?” Sam asked groggily. Steve could almost see him rubbing at his face, like he did when Steve woke him up.

“Hey, Sam, it’s Steve,” Steve answered, and Sam groaned.

“Jail again?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll be there at eight tomorrow morning,” Sam assured him, and Steve sighed in relief. “Bail money’s still in the same place?”

“Yup,” Steve told him. He glanced over at his shoulder at Natalia, looking at her hands in their shared cell. “Can you bring enough for two?”

“What’d you do, Stevie?”

“Nothing, I just need enough for two, I think I’ve saved up enough,” Steve told him.

“Sure, Steve.”

Steve hesitated, then began, “Hey, Sam-”

“Yeah, you got another letter,” Sam interrupted, anticipating his question. Steve blew out a harsh breath. “I’ll bring it in the morning.”

“You’re my absolute favorite person, Sam,” Steve promised, and Sam made a noncommittal sound.

“Stay alive until morning, Rogers,” Sam grumbled into the phone. Steve assured him that he would, and Sam hung up his end. Steve got escorted back to the cell, along with two pillows and two thin blankets. He handed the two blankets and a pillow to Natalia.

“I don’t get cold,” he told her. She rolled her eyes, but accepted the blankets, seeming to realize it would be useless to argue with Steve. Steve took the floor, and Natalia the bench, and the two of them stayed awake for a couple more hours, talking a bit, swapping stories back and forth, before Steve fell asleep first. He woke up with one of the blankets tucked around his shoulders, but Natalia was already awake, and one sharp look from her killed the comment in his mouth.

“What time is it?” Steve asked, and Natalia shrugged before standing to lean against the bars, letting her hands dangle out.

“Hey, there,” Natalia called to the officer standing on guard at the end of the hall. He turned, and she grinned, sharp and catlike. Steve raised an eyebrow. “Would you do me the favor of telling me the time?”

“Oh,” the guard said eloquently, clearly flustered. He checked his watch. “It’s twenty minutes until eight.”

“Perfect, thank you,” Natalia replied, slipping back into the cell. She winked at Steve before starting to fold her blanket. Steve picked up his own blanket and folded it himself, feeling Bucky’s absence in the way he wasn’t at the other end, holding the opposite edges and coming up to meet him. He just tossed the blanket on top of the pillow and sat down next to them on the floor. “Is someone coming for you?”

“Yes,” Steve answered, picking at the end of his sleeve, already frayed from Bucky’s worrying, nervous fingers. “My roommate, Sam.” He glanced up at Natalia. “How about you?”

She shrugged, breaking eye contact with him in favor of examining the wall across from her.“We’ll see, I suppose.”

Steve dropped it, returning to fiddling with his sleeve and making idle conversation until he heard Sam arguing with someone in the front of the station. Steve rocketed to his feet, pressing against the bars of the cell as far as he could in an attempt to see what was going on. Finally, Sam came storming back, a set of keys in his white-knuckled hand, and he opened the cell door for them.

“Ignorance is not always bliss,” Sam grumbled, tossing the keys to the angry-looking guard hovering right behind him. Sam motioned to Natalia when only Steve moved. “We got you, too, lady, let’s go.”

Natalia shot a look at Steve, who feigned interest in getting to Sam. The feigned interest quickly turned to real interest, and he forgot about Natalia when he remembered that Sam had told him he received a letter. Sam, apparently recognizing Steve’s distraction, grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him out of the station, past the seething cops staring at Sam’s back.

“They give you trouble?” Steve asked once they were on the sidewalk, heading towards the park a couple blocks over. He brushed out the wrinkles in his collar absently.

“You know how people can get,” Sam reminded him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Wish you didn’t have to,” Steve murmured. He practically jogged to the park, even though Sam’s and Natalia’s longer legs kept pace with him easily. Once Sam finally had him sitting on a bench, drinking water, he handed over the letter. Steve handed Sam his little cup before he tore into the envelope. He pulled the letter out and read over it quickly, then again more slowly. He pressed his face into his and tried to will his shoulders not to shake. Sam put a hand on his back, grateful that not too many people were in the park this early on a Saturday.

“I miss him,” Steve confessed into the paper. It was wrinkled and looked like it had been soaked and then dried, and it was covered in a blotchy version of Bucky’s messy scrawl, just like all his other letters that Steve kept in a box under his mattress.

“I know you do.” Sam motioned for Natalia to rub his back instead, jerking his head in the direction of a couple of white women walking their way. Natalia took up the job easily. “He’ll be back soon. We don’t know, this thing could be over tomorrow.”

“We know it’s not going to be, Sam,” Steve shot back. “I should be over there, fighting with him. I _have_ to get there.”

“Steve, Bucky’s not just a soldier,” Sam reminded him. “He’s Special Forces. He’s-”

“Specially trained in sniping and espionage, the brightest sniper they tested, the most accurate shot in the Special Forces,” Steve recited, as if on cue. “I _know,_ Sam. But I should _be there._ I should be watching his back.”

“He’s got people watching his back,” Sam said. “Riley’s there. He’s got that guy, what’s-his-name, Clint. Bucky’s safe.”

“Bucky’s not safe,” Steve argued, but there was no heat in it. He held the letter close enough that the words were swimming before his eyes.

“What’d you tell me last night, Rogers?” Natalia asked. He shook his head. “You said you’d fight the war at home, didn’t you? Join demonstrations, fight where you could. What happened to _that_ Steve Rogers? The one that would actually _do_ something?”

“I _am_ doing something,” Steve snapped, whipping his head around to glare at her. She stared right back, unflinching.

“I don’t see you doing anything except lying to the United States and getting yourself thrown in jail,” Natalia shot back. “Some good that’ll do the war.”

“It’s not a war,” Sam said, at the same time Steve growled and jumped to his feet, pacing away, then pacing back.

“I’m doing what I have to do,” Steve exclaimed.

“Obviously, you’re not,” Natalia disagreed, stern and cold. Steve held up well enough under her stare. He opened his mouth to talk, but she continued. “The Steve Rogers who joined demonstrations, fought the anti-war effort at home, _that’s_ the Steve Rogers who’s doing what she has to do.”

“He, if you don't mind,” Steve reminded her, pacing away again. Natalia held up a hand.

“I’m sorry, _he._ That’s the Steve Rogers who’s doing what _he_ has to do, and I don’t see that Steve Rogers. Sure wish I did.” Natalia leaned back against the back of the bench. “So, are you going to fight in this war-”

“ _Not_ a w-”

“Or are you going to sit back and do absolutely nothing while your brother or whoever that is gets killed over there?” Natalia continued, as if Sam had not even attempted to speak. Steve turned around, staring at her from the pathway in front of their bench. His eyes darted to Sam, then back to Natalia.

“I’m going to fight,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin. He looked down at the letter, held tight in his fist. His eyes roamed over Bucky’s words again, as if he could burn them into his memory right then and there. Natalia nodded, letting one arm rest against the top of the back of the bench.

“That’s what I figured,” Natalia replied, and Steve marched off in the direction of his and Sam’s apartment. Sam hauled himself to his feet, then offered a hand to Natalia, who took it without needing it. The two of them trailed behind Steve as he led them back home.

“Where have you been the last sixteen times this has happened?” Sam asked as they walked, and Natalia shrugged, lifting one shoulder.

“Waiting for the right time,” Natalia offered, and Sam laughed. Steve jogged across the street, narrowly avoiding a truck, and wondered, not for the first time, what Bucky would think about everything he was doing, all the choices he was making.

 _Well, tough luck,_ Steve thought to himself, rubbing absently at the bruise around his eye, halfway done healing. _You’re not here._

 


	2. Sergeant Barnes and his Howling Commandos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter from Bucky's point of view in Vietnam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Warning:** There is war violence in this chapter, including an explosion, gunfire, and wounds (burns that are not described in detail, blood, loss of limb). A character also dies.
> 
> America's involvement in Vietnam was only just starting to pick up in 1962. As such, in this story, Bucky and his soldiers are more like a special forces team, sent overseas to try to nip this in the bud, like a couple of groups were at the time. Think an early Tiger Force, but made up essentially of snipers. That's the Howling Commandos in this.

Bucky dragged himself back into their camp, attracted by the faint glimmer of a nearly-dead fire. He dropped his pack and fell down into the wet grass and dirt, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“How’re patrols, Sarge?” Gabe asked, snapping a cracker in half and handing a half to Bucky. Bucky took it, raised it gratefully, and tried to make it last a little bit.

“Not so bad,” Bucky answered. “Can’t see anyone out there.” He glanced at Morita and Falsworth, tugging on their own packs. “Be careful. Just because you can’t see ‘em doesn’t mean they ain’t there.”

“Roger that, Sarge,” Morita answered. Falsworth saluted him half-heartedly. Clint fell onto the ground beside him, grinning right in his face. He held up an envelope, waving it an inch from Bucky’s nose. Bucky snatched it out of his hand.

“Looks like you got another letter from your girl,” Clint teased, leaning back on his hands. Riley looked up at Bucky across the dying fire before turning his attention away. “The beautiful Stevie.”

 _“Stevie,”_ the men all sighed at once, and Bucky shoved Clint over until his face was in the mud. Riley snorted into his canteen.

“Stevie’s not my girl,” Bucky protested, and they all waved him and his old argument off. “Just a friend.”

“Yeah, because I sleep with my pal’s letters under my head,” Dum Dum joked. Morita and Falsworth finished packing themselves up and saluted Bucky before heading off into the trees for their patrols. Riley poked at the fire with a wet stick.

“Leave Barnes alone, fellas, _God,”_ Riley grumbled, and Clint tossed a small rock at him. Riley batted it away and scowled at him.

“Aw, come on, you’re just sore that Sammy hasn’t sent you a letter lately,” Clint shot at Riley, and Riley half-grinned at him before turning his attention to Bucky.

“I bet Sammy’s sent me something,” Riley murmured. Bucky knew it made it easier for Riley, having someone know that Sammy was a man, but it didn’t make it straight-easy all over. Bucky didn’t tell, and Riley didn’t tell that Stevie was a man, either, even though Bucky swore he had nothing to hide. “Just gotta wait for it to find me in this godforsaken place.”

“I’m sure it’s coming,” Bucky reassured him before ripping into his envelope. He shook out a letter and an old pocket knife. He ran his fingers over the handle of the pocket knife where Steve’s initials were still carved into it, _SGR_ sloppily written with Steve’s small hands. He flipped it over and saw his own initials on the other side, newer than Steve’s, which had been there since they were children. He brushed his thumb carefully over _JBB_ , written in a smoother hand, a little straighter, a little neater. He flipped the blade out, tapping at the sharp point of the knife before snapping it shut and tucking it away.

When Bucky opened the letter, a photograph fluttered out, and he caught it before it hit the mud. He smiled seeing Steve in the picture, standing with Sam and a woman he didn’t recognize. Steve had a black eye and a couple of stitches along his jaw, but it wasn’t anything he didn’t have when Bucky was home. They all had on homemade-looking shirts with slogans painted on them in Steve’s handwriting. Steve was going to anti-war demonstrations now, apparently. Steve was grinning at the camera, Sam smiling away next to him, while the woman’s face was turned, smiling a little as she looked as if she was about to say something to Steve. Bucky motioned for Riley to come over, and he handed up the picture for Riley to see.

“Beautiful,” Riley murmured, low enough for only Bucky to hear. He looked up at Bucky hopefully, and Bucky motioned, allowing him to do what he wanted, and Riley ripped Sam off of the picture. He folded it up and pocketed his half before returning Steve and the woman to Bucky.

“Whatcha got?” Clint asked, grabbing at the picture, but Bucky held it out of his reach. Clint gave up easily, letting his head fall back to rest against his pack as he reclined. “You’re gonna have to show us her face someday, Barnes.”

“Not so sure that I will, Barton,” Bucky replied, turning his attention back to the letter. It took him a couple of tries to actually start reading, what with Steve’s face, grinning and safe, burned onto the insides of his eyelids. He read over the letter a couple of times. He knew Steve wasn’t saying everything - he had to have gotten the black eye from somewhere, but he didn’t mention any kind of fights - but he could hear every word in Steve’s voice. He ran his fingertips over the pen indentations.

“Stevie est bien?” Dernier asked. Bucky looked to Gabe.

“How’s ol’ Stevie doin’?” Gabe half-translated for them. Bucky returned his attention to the letter, reading Steve’s words over again, letting Steve’s voice fill his head. _God,_ he missed him. War was hell, and getting captured - however briefly - hadn’t been a peach, but it’d all be worth it to get back home.

“Stevie’s doin’ just fine,” Bucky answered, barely paying attention as Gabe translated it back over to French for Dernier. Dernier nodded, leaning across their small circle to clap Bucky on the shoulder.

“Il est une honte pour garder une belle femme qui nous attend,” Dernier added, raising his own canteen. Gabe rolled his eyes before beginning to translate it, but he got cut off by the sound of gunfire. The six of them automatically sprang to action, Dum Dum kicking out the fire, Bucky and Clint grabbing their weapons and tossing them to their owners.

“Low to the ground,” Bucky hissed at them, and they all fell, without hesitation, to hide in the mud. The gunfire died down after a bit, and Bucky leaned up, looking through the trees. After a split second of absolute stillness and silence, Morita and Falsworth came crashing through the trees.

“Grenade!” Morita barely got to shout before there was a flash of something getting tossed past his head, and, before anyone could move, Riley was scrambling to his feet and throwing himself over the grenade.

“No-” Bucky started, but it was only a split second before the grenade exploded, taking the world away in a blinding flash of white. One slow beat of his heart, Bucky felt red-hot pain along his left side, and screamed. When his vision cleared enough to see his camp around him, he saw a limb near him, which, upon Bucky squinting until he could figure out what it was, proved to be an arm. It had Riley’s watch on it. Bucky rolled over onto his stomach so he could push himself up. He had an agonizing pain tearing at his left side, and he looked down to see his own arm was completely gone, missing from the shoulder down, the remaining flesh bloody and burnt. He swallowed past the scream in his throat again and tore off his own watch, shoving the strap in his mouth to bite down on so as not to make any noise.

Bucky dragged himself through the mud to his rifle, and, as soon as enemy soldiers started to show themselves, he started shooting one-handed, taking them out one by one. Two other shooters were helping him out, but he had no idea who they were; he had to focus on his task, single-minded until it was done.

Once the soldiers stopped coming, Bucky dropped his rifle and shoved himself to his knees. He turned to see that the two helping him were Dum Dum and Clint, who skittered to his feet and into one of their tents, which was burning lazily. He stomped it out and grabbed one of their first aid kits from inside.

“Get down, Sarge,” Clint ordered before frowning. He dropped the first aid kit and smacked at one of his ears. “Sarge,” he tested, before clapping his hands over his ears again. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no-”

Bucky spit out his watch and shouted, “Dugan,” jerking his chin in Clint’s direction when Dum Dum looked at him, and Dum Dum moved over to Clint, grabbing his arms and holding him still while Clint screamed, clawing at the sides of his head. Dum Dum’s back was bloody and raw-looking, most of his uniform singed off. Bucky snatched up the first aid kit that Clint had dropped and hastily wrapped up the stump left of his arm to at least stop the bleeding.

“Do you see anyone?” Bucky asked, and Dum Dum looked away from Clint long enough to point. Bucky scrambled through the mud in the direction he pointed and found Morita, half-buried in the mud, and he pulled him to his feet only to find that he had been on top of Falsworth, who was unconscious but breathing. Morita’s side was badly burned, but he still had everything attached, and Falsworth looked a little bloody but no worse for the wear.

“Who are we missing?” Morita asked, once Bucky got them both standing and Falsworth out of the mud and onto his back. Bucky did a headcount, trying to ignore Clint’s frantic attempts at speaking. Clint was there, Dum Dum was there, Morita, Falsworth-

“Dernier, Jones, Bowker,” Bucky listed. He and Morita started searching through the displaced mud, the burning tents, and the trees, and it only took a couple of minutes to find Gabe, and Gabe found Dernier, shouting in French until they found him stuck in the mud.

“I can’t find Riley,” Morita told Bucky breathlessly. They had found the arm that had been in front of Bucky’s face when he came through, but nothing else so far.

“Bowker!” Gabe called. Dum Dum left Clint to Dernier and started searching, as well.

“Riley!” Dum Dum shouted, trying to run through the mud. “Goddamnit-”

“Sarge, you better come sit,” Gabe said, startling Bucky. He grabbed Bucky’s wrist and pulled him over next to Clint, who had his arms wrapped around his knees and his face pressed into his thighs. Gabe started undressing Bucky’s haphazard bandages, already bled through, and started cleaning what was left of his arm. He halted the flow of blood to the best of his ability, made a makeshift tourniquet which he tied around Bucky’s shoulder, and bandaged him back up again.

“I know it hurts, but we’re putting out a distress call,” Morita promised him, the radio in his hand. “They’ll get us out of here. You did good, Sarge. We’re gonna get out of here.”

“Thanks,” Bucky grit out. He suddenly started grabbing at his jacket, searching for Steve’s letter and the photo of him.

“Calm down, what’re you looking for?” Gabe asked. Bucky started tugging his jacket off, but Gabe’s hands stopped him.

“Stevie’s picture,” Bucky told him, and Gabe started digging through Bucky’s pockets before he pulled out the pocket knife and the picture. He unfolded the picture for Bucky and stuck it in his hand for him.

“She’s real pretty, Sarge,” Gabe commented. Bucky frowned before he remembered the unfamiliar woman in the picture, who Steve identified in his letter as “Nat”. He glanced at her before returning his attention to Steve. The picture crinkled a little in his tight grip.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned when he heard footsteps behind him, trying not to be as skittish as he felt. Dum Dum was standing there, hunched a little bit from the wounds on his back. “Report.” Dum Dum remained silent, and Bucky clenched his jaw. _“Dugan._ Report.”

“Riley’s dead,” Dum Dum told him, and Bucky stared at him. Dum Dum looked up from the mud to meet Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky shook his head, dropping it into his hand. The photo of Steve pressed into his face.

“We have to tell Sam,” Bucky murmured into his palm. He could feel the blood still dripping from what was left of his arm. He looked up at Dum Dum, then around to the rest of his remaining soldiers. “Is everyone else okay?”

Everyone nodded, except Clint, who just stared at him desperately, a wild edge to his features. Bucky nodded, the pain and the blood loss starting to creep through his adrenaline. He put his hand down on the ground, holding himself in place.

“You’ve all done a real good job,” Bucky assured them. He looked up at Gabe, whose face was swimming. He looked worried. “Good work. Best soldiers a man could ask for.”

Gabe started to say something, but Bucky couldn’t hear it, and his vision went black a second later, and the world fell away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@babeIincoln](https://twitter.com/babeIincoln) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> I have an outline for this, and it's meant to be ten chapters. I'll add tags/warnings/et cetera as it goes along.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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